Chapter 25

Lord, thou art my God; I extol thee and praise thy name for thy wonderful do-ings; for thy designs, so long prepared, so faithfully executed; see, it is done!

A heap of stones where, but for thy decree, a town stood; a crumbling ruin, all that is left of a walled city; a fortress of the invader, dismantled now and never to be built again.

What wonder great nations should do thee homage, embattled cities hold thee in dread?

Stronghold thou art of the poor, stronghold of the helpless in their affliction, refuge from the storm, shade in the noonday sun; against that wall the rage of tyrants blusters in vain.

Uproar of the invader stilled, as it were the breathless summer of a parched land; oppression withered up from the roots, like haze of burning heat!

A time is coming when the Lord of hosts will prepare a banquet on this mountain of ours; no meat so tender, no wine so mellow, meat that drips with fat, wine well strained.

Gone the chains in which he has bound the peoples, the veil that covered the nations hitherto; on the mountain-side, all these will be engulfed;

death, too, shall be engulfed for ever. No furrowed cheek but the Lord God will wipe away its tears; gone the contempt his people endured in a whole world’s eyes; the Lord has promised it.

When that day comes, men will be saying, He is here, the God to whom we looked for help, the Lord for whom we waited so patiently; ours to rejoice, ours to triumph in the victory he has sent us.

On yonder mountain the divine deliverance shall rest, and by his power Moab shall be crushed, like straw ground in the chaff-cutter;

Moab shall stretch out his hands, like a man swimming, and low shall his pride fall when they crash down to earth!

Down they must come, the battlements that crown those walls, lie inglorious in the dust.